All That Glitters
by Abby Ebon
Summary: SLASH; M&M Romance! OneShots. No Plot. Some based off my story "Scorched Sand"; Harry Potter and the Mummy 1&2 SMUT.
1. You’re Lips: HarryxArdeth

"_You're Lips (The Color of Crimson Blood__)"_

_Abby Ebon_

Note; Harry and Ardeth… in an oasis – there is **smut**. Enjoy.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

Ardeth was bone-weary and hadn't gotten much sleep the night before; nonetheless he had made it to the oasis, it was one of the few sanctuaries that was sheltered from the sun and sand by high cliffs. He had been sleeping on the warm sand on the edge of the pool of water sheltered by a desert tree that stood solid and proud above him.

Promptly wary of what had woken him, he listened – there where the sounds of the desert wildlife – there was nothing unusual in that, the waterfall that pooled and feed the oasis – the chime of the planets hardened shells rocking together as the wind gently brew them.

Then, Ardeth froze – for he had heard a sound that was unlike any of those. _Someone_, he realized as he crouched among the plant life, _was singing_. For a moment he was relieved – a person could not mean you much harm if they weren't in a bad mood when you stumbled onto them. Then, he worried – what if the…man…he decided after listening alertly to a few sweet notes, was not alone?

If there were others, they could have plans to attack Ardeth's people… The oasis was no true secret location, although hard to find at the base of cliffs, the little valley could be found if you got lucky enough to catch sight of the few birds that occasionally flew overhead.

Following the stream only led to the pool fed by the waterfall and in it…was the boy-man Ardeth had heard humming. Ardeth took the sight of him in, he was grown – and within at least a half dozen years of Ardeth own age. His skin glistened with water, it was turned golden by the desert sun, though there were signs he had once been pale, his skin was scarred – though they were strange marks.

He had dark hair – and, a little longer then Ardeth's own shoulder length locks. He was muscular – his back smoothly curving to his rear, the sight of which made Ardeth subconsciously lick his lips his groin twitching in interest. Ardeth dared move a few steps closer, soundlessly moving into the water – the faint splashes of his entrance drowned out by the waterfall.

Last night, Ardeth had stripped down to a cotton shirt of blue, and his pants – held up by a belt which held the only weapon on his person – his dagger. As he waded in behind the other man, he watched as he went under smoothly, only to come up in the circle of Ardeth's arms, a dagger resting against the smooth column of his throat.

"You were not careful…" Ardeth murmured softly – teasing, into the other mans ear, he felt the man tense – his breath catching in his throat.

"And you, Ardeth, do not play fair." The man Ardeth had known most of his life, since early boyhood when they had fought over which was the better marksman – his rival, his friend…and his occasional lover, replied in a low drawl while arching his neck, laying his head against Ardeth's shoulder, trusting him to take care with the dagger as Harry licked at Ardeth's ear.

"Can you blame me, Harry – you're the one who set the rules. It is my turn to dominate you…" Ardeth chuckled softly, nuzzling the base of Harry's neck, licking teasingly at the wet skin and hair.

Harry moaned softly, arching against him – promptly deciding he wanted Ardeth _now_ -practically dragging his partner onto the soft sand at the edge of the pool. Harry fell purposefully onto the sand – falling in such a way so he could not hurt himself – but posed just the same, as if helpless.

Ardeth eyed his friend – his neck tilted just so, his hair messily covering his eyes so he had to look up through them – peering up at Ardeth with seemingly vulnerable brilliant green eyes. Harry's thighs were parted welcomingly, his back arched to give a lovely view of his arse – and his groin.

"What are you up to?" Ardeth asked softly as he got on his hands and knees, crawling toward Harry those last few inches and kissing his jaw hungrily. He didn't stop himself from touching Harry – for Harry was alike a drug to him, and while Ardeth would never have "enough" – he could be sated.

"Absolutely, _nothing_. I _swear_." Harry purred into Ardeth's ear – Ardeth knew that while his tone may be innocent, Harry was anything but. He proved it by spreading his thighs wider - the tip of a dildo visible only then. Ardeth sucked in his breath – his cock aching with pleasure at the sight of it, Harry's cheeks never failed to flush red when Ardeth gently pulled the toy out of him – though he was suspicious of what Harry was up to when saw those green eyes flashed with mirth.

"Whatever you have in mind, I'm not going to let you take me." Ardeth hissed softly against Harry's jaw, as he maneuvered himself above the other male, positioning his cock against Harry's quivering entrance.

"That's what you think…" Harry purred as Ardeth pushed gently into the younger male. The promise was enough to make Ardeth's heart race, groaning as he took Harry – and thought of being taken by Harry. Harry's eyelids slid shut, as he moaned softly - arching wantonly against Ardeth, his own cock twitching against Ardeth's navel as he pushed gently in and out – a sweet torture, but one he knew Harry would seek revenge for.

"If your going to top, Ardeth – then _fuck_ me." Harry snarled as he looked up at Ardeth – obviously furious at the teasingly torturous pace. Ardeth – used to such foul language, only smirked down at him as he slid slowly into the wet heat of Harry's body.

"You want faster?" Ardeth asked, settled to the hilt within Harry – he felt as if he could stay joined to him like this forever – though Harry would be …displeased.

"…Please…." Harry choked softly, whimpering and moving, needy, beneath him.

Ardeth couldn't resist – so he didn't – "the fucking" as Harry would say, truly began in earnest as Ardeth thrust out of Harry – at the threat of not being filled again, Harry whimpered softly – eager and pleading, though Harry would never later admit it. Ardeth thrust hard into his partner - Harry gasping and arching to meet him, when he topped Harry, he loved to watch him – as his eyes closed then fluttering open as Ardeth took him and left him.

He was alike a moving piece of art – one that was utterly Ardeth's own to admire. Ardeth knew that Harry was close – as he always knew – when Harry's flushed lips parted, and his neck arched – and just for a moment, Ardeth thought Harry's lips were like the color of crimson blood just as he came against Ardeth's stomach and thighs. Just as Ardeth thought he would come – he found he couldn't, and Harry was panting under him, smirking – his eyes so dark they looked back.

"Why can't I…?" Ardeth began to ask, shuddering above Harry as he was _so close_ – quivering within Harry, so close to the oblivion that he would do _anything_ to be released.

"You won't come, my dear Ardeth…unless my lips are around you – and there is _something_ within you…" Harry purred, Ardeth struggled to find reason – but it seemed out of reach. He did not resist as Harry rolled him onto the sand – tugging his pants down further, Harry's lips and tongue finding him, licking at him and teasing him with teeth to finally surround the head of his cock with the wet heat of Harry's mouth and lips.

Ardeth did not resist when he felt the head of Harry's dildo press against his entrance – he was beyond resisting – he only wanted – _needed_, to find release. Eventually, he did – by screaming Harry's name as he came.

When Ardeth could pay attention to more then how good he felt, he found he held Harry close to him, their legs tangled together, Harry's head tucked against his chest as they rested in the shade of the trees.

"That," Ardeth murmured hoarsely, "wasn't fair." Harry only smirked wickedly against Ardeth's chest, the tip of his finger playing with a strand of chest hair.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

…. so who thinks I should have a (sex) scene between Imhotep and Harry?


	2. Desert Blossom: HarryxImhotep

_"Desert Blossom (The Scent of Innocence)"_

_Abby Ebon_

Note; Harry (kind of on accident though not-really) seduces Imhotep after the party in Ancient Egypt, at the very beginning of the story – in the chapter, **Shades of Panic**; "_Why Death Is A Jealous Lover_", what if Nefertiri hadn't led him away so early on? More importantly – what if Death had a _real_ reason to be jealous?

Ah, fan-fiction within fan-fiction, isn't it bafflingly refreshing?

… Smut, obviously. …

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

_This celebration, from the start, promised to last a long time, and it wasn't very long before some were led stumbling away – drunk. Seti announced he would go on a chariot ride, before dusk, and there were many murmurs of approval._

_When Seti left, it was near __noon__ –__Anck-su-namun__ snuck away, giving Harry a look – as though she __knew__ what Imhotep had done –and blamed Harry. _

--

"_Harii, I am going to go to my chambers now – do not worry, Imhotep will take care of you. Just tell him if you require anything_…" Nefertiri told him softly – as though not to startle him, her hand laid warm against the skin of his shoulder- Harry found it quite hard to focus on anything just then. Nonetheless, Harry after blinking a few times at her – he nodded slowly in understanding.

Nefertiri and Imhotep spoke in hushed, rapid whispers, Harry knew –somehow – that he should have been paying attention to what was going on, but he couldn't bring himself to care. With the warmth of, whatever it was he had drunk – or been drugged with, seeping into his mind – numbing him pleasantly, he found himself willing to give Imhotep a second chance. After all, Nefertiri and her father seemed to trust him.

Perhaps what had happened after they had left them alone earlier that day had merely been a misunderstanding?

Sometime later (he didn't know how much time had passed, and it didn't seem to matter) Harry had worked it out that Nefertiri _had_ left, and Imhotep had taken her place - sitting beside Harry, watching him. As Harry stared blankly into Imhotep's dark eyes, Harry felt himself grow somewhat tired, as those reminded him of the night sky – of sleep, rest. Death.

Harry's heart clenched painfully in his chest, though he did not know – or understand - the reason – he whimpered softly – not wanting to cause a scene. When Harry dared to look up at Imhotep, he saw something in his eyes – something that passed before Harry could understand it. Perhaps it had been an understanding sympathy– maybe worry or pity – or even, Harry wondered with amusement at himself, lust.

Whatever it had been, was real and, most importantly, was directed toward _Harry_. Showing, just for once in Harry's life, someone who was a stranger – who could use him (though he did not think Imhotep would do that) – felt something toward him other then hate or hero-worship. Even if it was lust Imhotep felt toward him...he was tired of being alone - his heart beating rapidly at his own daring, Harry laid his head on Imhotep's shoulder.

It was warm, a musky sort of warmth from sun and sand that enchanted Harry, and though the muscles beneath the skin shifted with tension – Harry could not resist nuzzling his cheek against Imhotep's bare shoulder.

"_Harii…would you like to go to the chambers granted to you_?" Imhotep's voice seemed to be strained, though soft enough that Harry did not cringe from the volume of it – he found himself particularly sensitive to his senses. _Must be the drug_, Harry thought absently, although he could not complain – the warmth and texture of Imhotep's skin against him made Harry feel a needy pleasure heat between his thighs.

"_Do you mean - do I want to go to bed_?" Harry asked in turn, finding Imhotep's phrasing difficult to unravel. His voice is soft and questioning, reminding Harry that he sounds far to much like a child, rather then the teenager he is.

"_Yes, Harii. That is what I meant_…" Imhotep allowed, smiling slightly despite that he was supposed to play the part of High Priest – and priests of any sort did not smile while boys half their own age cuddled them in the middle of a dinner party. No matter that Harry felt…_right_, pressed against him – even if it was in a drunken stupor (or, more sinister – drugged - as Nefertiri had suggested).

"_No...I…I don't want to leave you alone_." Harry remembered softly, his voice very rough as he gazed at the others with hooded eyes. They tried their best to pretend they did not see them, but Harry saw the loathing for Imhotep (and perhaps himself?) in their eyes. Strange, that he had not noticed it before.

"_Come. Let us get you to your rooms, you are not fit to tie your own shoes, let alone dine among…jackals_." The last word was softly hissed, as Imhotep – seeing and realizing why Harry had said what he had – wrapped a possessive arm around him and hauled him up from the ground. Harry half leaned on him – not aware of it, he was clingy as they walked, forcing Imhotep to pause every once in a while so that Harry would regain his balance.

"_I don't want to be alone_…" The confession of the words was random – but not necessarily, as Imhotep knew well from experience, untrue.

"_I will sit with you until you fall asleep then_." At Imhotep's words – Harry looked up at him, green eyes wide and surprised, though frankly dauntingly honest.

"_Really_...?" Green eyes pleaded with him to whisper, to touch – to seduce. Hastily – before he could be tempted, Imhotep looked elsewhere. He found himself looking ahead. They had stopped abruptly from the entrance that led to Harry's chambers – merely a few foot steps away. Imhotep could not find it within himself to be frustrated, not with Harry looking up at him as if Imhotep held so much of Harry – as if, if he hinted the wrong thing, Harry might shatter.

That was something Imhotep was not used to – no one trusted him, he was the embodiment of a God that abused – that used - that lied, which _killed_. That was evil – but then, what God or Goddess that could not be tempted by the dark? His God was merely an indulgence of such darkness – a figurehead for it –a ruler of it. Imhotep had willing followed that God all his life – to do that tainted ….twisted a person. Imhotep had once thought, merely a day ago, that he was surely evil for loving the wife-to-be of the Pharaoh, of plotting with her to overthrow him, so they might have a chance of being together.

Harry was not evil – that was plain enough from a glimpse of those bold green eyes – how could Harry put so much trust in him, when merely that morning Imhotep had lusted after him? Had touched and shaved him, had indulged in teasing him – how could Harry still – somehow - trust him?

Imhotep found himself looking back at Harry – daring to meet his eyes as he answered – and with a heavy heart, spoke.

"_Truly_…" Imhotep answered softly, sure that he would not – if given a choice between reason and carnal instinct – abuse such blind faith ever again.

Harry – caught off balance by looking up at Imhotep and trying to walk onward after reciving his answer - stumbled badly then. Imhotep, before he could think to do otherwise, reached out for the youth and caught him, holding him against him for a few precious moments before he found, frustratingly, that could not hold his own weight and they tumbled together against the stone wall in a tangle of limbs.

Imhotep found his back pressed to the hard stone wall – and in his arms, Harry lay sprawled against him. Looking down at him, Imhotep could not help but notice how petite and – well – short the youth was compared to his own build.

_Such a delicate creature_, Imhotep mused as Harry raised his head to look him awkwardly in the eye – then, flushed prettily – chose to stare at Imhotep's collarbone.

"_Thank you_." Harry whispered breathlessly against Imhotep's neck, unknowingly sending pleasant tingling shivers along his skin –Harry only knew he _had_ tensed, and Harry – noticing this, frowning in a disapproving sort of way.

_I want to smell him_. Harry realized, the desire humming through him like a arrow, shakily he inhaled – drawn in close by the heat crawling in a place lower then his navel, he bent till his lips ghosted Imhotep's neck. A wet tongue lapped at the salty sweat that sitting in the evening heat had created.

Imhotep's body jerked in his surprise, but he did not pull away – merely staring down at Harry in a horrified sort of way - his eyes having widening at the touch of the wet heat against his skin. As he watched, stunned – the boy began kissing from neck to jaw – with every breath and touch of lips or tongue, Imhotep found his groin hardening, becoming so needy it was nearly too painful to bare.

Soft and gentle, Harry's lips touched his own – pressing, earnest – and very eager.

"_Harii_…" Imhotep did not know, exactly, what he would have said to deter the younger man, and he did not get a chance to consider it further. Harry could be very determined when there was something he wanted – right then, what he wanted to do was taste Imhotep – so he did. The wet heat licked at Imhotep's lips playfully before pushing in – unlike the kiss, he was not "soft or gentle" – he was demanding and possessive.

Control was something Harry was not very good at – and when Imhotep raised his hands to pull off the wig, and tangle his fingers into Harry's dark-as-night hair – he didn't want it.

"…_Please_…?" Harry begged shamelessly, his lips brushing the shell of Imhotep's ear as he spoke, and feeling the bulge against his thigh – Imhotep knew exactly what Harry was asking for.

One of his hands cradled Harry's head against his pounding heart, the other dared to touch the skin of Harry's thighs just beneath the hem of his loincloth. Harry gave a eager little moan – soft and needy, arching against Imhotep's hip.

"_As you wish_…" Imhotep purred softly into Harry's dark hair, holding the youth to him – he felt the boy whimper as his hand that intimately touched his bare thigh went higher, cupping and massaging his rear.

Harry made soft whimpering moans – rubbing himself against Imhotep, every inch of his length touching Imhotep in some way as he pressed against Imhotep's thigh – where it _throbbed _against the heat of his skin– over his own groin – where both moaned and panted for each other – against the flat of Imhotep's lower stomach - which made Harry arch, panting, and begin to thrust against Imhotep all over again.

Imhotep held Harry to him by his hair (not that he thought Harry would want to be "escaping" very soon) pressing their bodies together as he held him. When Imhotep's fingers pressed teasingly against the parting of the twin globes – Harry's breath caught in his throat – his eyes flicking up to meet Imhotep's own.

There was fear – need, want - and pleading that passed between one breath and the next, before Harry clung to him – his nails digging painfully into Imhotep's shoulders – drawing blood from the skin as he was forced to bare Harry's weight. Harry's legs and thighs wrapped around Imhotep then; anchoring him against his flesh, and entrapping Imhotep against the stone.

Imhotep found he had watched Harry intently as he touched him – teased him – but watching Harry was like hearing him, both drew out Imhotep's desire – as Harry kindled it like a flame.

Imhotep's fingers abruptly made contact with Harry's entrance, pressed against it – made Harry moan and move wantonly against him. Trusting suddenly in Harry's ability to cling to him – and in gravity to hold them up right against the stone Imhotep was trapped against – both Imhotep's hands met Harry's thighs.

Carefully, Imhotep lifted him so that the head of Imhotep's cock pressed against his entrance – the pre cum and gentle throbbing of Imhotep's length against his most intimate place served to relaxed and prepare Harry far better then any stretching Imhotep could have done.

Mostly, though, it made him beg to feel all of Imhotep finally _move_ inside him.

So that's just what Imhotep did – listening with delight as Harry groaned (nails digging in deeper, teeth sinking into his throat to taste skin and blood if he so dared to draw it) arching (pressing his length upward along Imhotep's stomach as he did so) succeeding in pushing himself off Imhotep only to carefully be let slid down again.

Harry was a teenager – as Imhotep well knew, and teenagers did not last forever – the constant touch of skin on skin, and the feel of Imhotep in him – moving – and the rush of pleasure caused by the pressure against the tiny bundle of nerves deep within him.

Not to mention the drugs that heightened all of this left it completely understandable that with a weak cry and a shiver that trebled though his small frame, Harry came – warm liquid suddenly against Imhotep's bare stomach – hearing him and feeling him react to his orgasm left Imhotep gasping as he held Harry tightly to him and came within his lover.

After he could breathe normally again, he lifted the now dozing teenager, carrying him bridal style the last few steps to Harry's chambers. With care and a certain amount of kindness that could not be forced or faked he laid the boy down and covered him with a thick blanket – for he knew the desert may be unbearably hot in the day, it was chill in the night.

The moment he stepped into the hall, he knew he was not alone.

A shadow with the image of a God he knew well emerged from the darkness; his blazing eyes burned molten silver into Imhotep – lips pulled back from fanged teeth.

"_**Forget**_." Imhotep blinked and in a daze walked away to meet his fate – eerie star-like eyes gazed at Harry – for a moment, they softened – then, with purpose the "God" followed Imhotep, leading him back to the party – where his golden skinned slave priests awaited him.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O


	3. Passion in the Dusk: RickxImhotep

_"Passion in the Dusk (The Lick of Lust)"_

_Abby Ebon_

Note; Imhotep is not as gone as Rick thought, for he haunts his thoughts, and his nights….

_Warnings; _Smut, which is good for the _soul_…

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

Rick was back in the desert, lost, his every step was agony. His skin blistered, bled pus and blood, in places there were no heat blisters, the skin was tinged red – hot to the touch. He was in bad shape, and it was hot, everything was hot – it would only get worse before there was relief.

His only hope was the oasis that could be a mirage in the distance. Rick had lived through all this before – and knew, in the creeping way you knew certain things in a dream, that this time would be different.

That this would be a nightmare, rather then the reality – the reality was that the oasis was real, and that a village of desert dwellers lived there. They had nursed him back to health, had cared for him while he was helpless, then when he was health, they had let him go with a guide back to the city, as he had asked of them.

This time, in a dream, it was empty of life. He was alone, but there was shade here – water, perhaps he might survive. Weakly, he let himself drop to his knees before the gently bubbling spring, bent over and scooped water into his parched mouth. He did not think anything had ever tasted sweeter.

Rick then made the mistake of glancing into the pool of water, a face very different from his own stared back at him. Imhotep. Rick, despite the heat, felt chilled. It was as if Imhotep was floating just beneath the surface. Imhotep made no move to rise up out of the water. He was still…as still as death, or sleep.

Rick felt a moment of relief – a relief that was washed away in the next moment as Imhotep's eyes snapped open - he was staring _at him_, Rick – despite the water that he had just drank, felt his mouth go dry.

There was something else in Imhotep's gaze – something that was not precisely hate. Imhotep was sitting up then, the water splashing around him as he rose up, and crawled onto the sand beside Rick. Rick did not stop him, for it was as if he was weighted down by the others dark gaze – weighted, yes, and too weak to move or fight, let alone attempt to defend himself.

He was helpless, and they both knew it.

"Rick O'Connell, you do not look well." Imhotep greeted, his gaze dagger sharp – searching for traps, but Rick, for once, had none to offer. Rick let out a broken laugh, and though there wasn't really a reason for it – his laughs turned to coughs, and blood dribbled down his lips.

"I'm a rightly screwed, you mean. What are you doing here anyway?" Rick asked figuring as it was his dream; he should be able to ask some questions.

"Death rejected me. It is the curse of the undead." Imhotep answered easily, and Rick nodded, as if he understood the answer, though he didn't – not really.

"What about your ambitions – you know, take over the world, rule it. Whatever." Rick curled onto his side, growing dizzy with sitting upright on his knees. Imhotep looked down at him, sitting cross legged beside him; for once there was amusement in his gaze, and Rick wondered what he would look like if he smiled. Probably, it would be quite charming.

"There is no point to that, _she_ rejected me." Imhotep told him solemnly, and Rick snorted.

"Yeah, well, don't take it too hard. Few people would die for you a second time around." Rick muttered softly, he felt the sweat on his brow but didn't have the strength to wipe it away.

"Your wife did." It was the last thing Imhotep said, before the dream faded. Rick woke in his bed, confused for a moment, before he remembered the heat was due to the fever he had had, and the sweat meant his fever had broken. The rest, he felt was a fevered delusion.

He would have forgotten it, were it not for the fact that it happened again the next night. Rick was well now, more of a threat, and Imhotep recognized that. Rick did not move to harm him, and Imhotep followed suite – it was a kind of uneasy truce.

"Why did you come back?" Imhotep asked then after a long enough pause that both were starting to feel uncomfortable, his tone was soft enough to be considered a whisper – but Rick heard him nonetheless.

"Don't really think I have a choice. Was sick last time, maybe I'm stuck in this dream. What do you think?" Rick asked in turn, a little louder – Imhotep gave him a look alike a glare, and it made Rick pause, and wonder if he was about to die.

"There is always a choice, Rick O'Connell – _always_." Rick rolled his eyes upward – and his gaze caught the night sky. Last time, it had been day. He found he did not mind the change; the desert night sky was a wonderful thing to behold.

"How long have I been gone?" Rick found himself asking as he stared upward, a smile teasing at the edges of his lips.

"A day or so, time cannot be measured here. It passes as it needs to." Imhotep's answer was no answer at all, but Rick did not question it.

"Where exactly is here?" Rick found himself asking – the sand felt very real beneath his bare feet, still warm in fact from the sun in the day, though the night air was chill.

"It is a place between death and life – I believe you are familiar with the term dream?" Rick nodded, glancing to Imhotep who had been watching him. Not with wariness – but with a sort of smug way. The way a teacher who did not like their pupil would look – or so Rick thought then.

"So, this is…a dream world?" Rick found himself asking, very slowly, Imhotep nodded.

"Why are you here then?" Rick asked, somewhat confused – Imhotep raised an eyebrow.

"I can not die. I do not want to live, this is an option I am not inclined to reject." Rick wondered when Imhotep would stop answering his questions. The man didn't seem to have an end to his patience, though it was as if the passion in him that he had displayed in life was drained.

"What happens if you do?" Rick wondered aloud, and he did not think Imhotep expected him to ask him that, for he paused, and actually considered his answer.

"In truth, I do not know. Why have you shown such an interest?" Caught in that dark gaze, Rick found he could not answer lightly, as he would have otherwise chosen.

"I think I might have liked you, if we'd met, and you weren't, you know – undead." Rick admitted, and was treated to Imhotep caught off guard.

"I am sorry to admit now, I thought you a fool – you are not exactly that." Imhotep spoke and Rick shrugged, glancing to the rising sun.

"What do you think I am now?" Rick found himself asking, wanting the answer. He knew, somehow, that once the sun rose – he would have to go. Imhotep seemed to know that as well.

"A _special_ kind of fool." Rick laughed, and continued to laugh as the desert oasis – and Imhotep – faded. All throughout the day, Rick tried to stub his eagerness to go to sleep - it was strange, how his priorities had shifted. It was as if – as if he had something to look foreword to again. That had been rare – Alex was still in school, and Evelyn was teaching him. Rick felt the part of a maid – there was nothing, nothing at all for him to do.

So, Rick dreamed, and did not quite realize when dreaming was what he lived for, and living felt the part of a distant dream.

"I fear what is going to happen to you," Imhotep admitted after greeting him with a nod, "Rick O'Connell, you must realize that your being is shifting – you wish this to be life, but it is not, it is the dream." His worry made Rick feel something vaguely warm twist low in his belly.

"Truthfully, I don't think I care." It was strange to put it to words, but it was true, and Rick found he was glad to have it off his chest.

"Fool." Imhotep hissed, feeling as if he was being mocked – he was trying to warn the boy, but he didn't seem to give a damn.

"What do you want from me, Imhotep? Would you rather be alone?" Rick asked then frustrated, there was something between them – Rick knew it. And though he did not quite know what _it_ was, he knew the reason Imhotep kept him at a distance was somehow related to that feeling – that bond, between them.

"Yes." Rick knew that was a lie, but it was one Imhotep seemed to earnestly believe was the right answer.

"Well, I don't want you to be alone, you don't deserve it." Rick's words earned him a cold look from the man he shared a fire with. Rick shivered, and wondered at the fact that this – this dream world, felt more and more like where he belonged. If he was meant to be by Imhotep's side, rather then his families, well – his family didn't need him like Imhotep seemed to. Didn't understand him like Imhotep did.

"I have killed." Imhotep finally said, as if it were a reason. Rick snorted his eyes on the dancing flames before them.

"So have I, do you think that makes you unworthy of my company?" Imhotep had no reply, and together they waited for the dawn. Rick wondered if he could ever find the strength to leave the oasis and ride into the sunset with Imhotep.

Imhotep's thoughts, and he surely had many on the matter, were cast in shadow.

The next night, they fought – it was inevitable, but it caught Rick by surprise none the less. As soon as he appeared, Imhotep caught him off guard, coming up behind him and wrapping an arm around his neck in a choke hold.

Rick gasped frantically for breath – reaching around scratching at Imhotep's skin, throwing his weight back and twisting in his grip, pinning Imhotep into the rough sand. It was then Rick realized, Imhotep was practically naked – he wore a wrap around his groin, but that was all. Rick did not know how he had managed it, but Imhotep was smooth, it was all muscle and hard skin, no hair but for a sparse spread over his chest.

Rick hit him in the stomach with an elbow and while Imhotep struggled to regain his breath, Rick twisted the rest of the way around, straddling the other man, the bulk of his weight against Imhotep's chest.

Slowly, panting for breath, they became aware of each other. Rick shifted, his ass pressing then against Imhotep's groin- Rick hissed in surprise and Imhotep bit harshly into his lip, keeping himself from groaning – and looking way from Rick.

"Why the –_hell_ – did you attack me?" Rick demanded, ignoring for the moment the feel of Imhotep's hard length against the cleft of his ass.

"I do not want you here. You should leave here, while you still can." Imhotep told him bluntly looking into the others eyes. Rick stilled, feeling the heat and throb of Imhotep against him, it made him feel weak – needy. Yet, Imhotep was denying him – rejecting him. Rick felt rage bubble up in him, and rubbed himself boldly against Imhotep. The others quickly indrawn breath was all he needed to know that he had succeeded.

"Yeah – want me to go and not return? Well _that_ says otherwise." Rick teased, excided in a way he didn't know how to respond to. So he surrendered to the urge the bond pressed on him, he tilted his chin up and licked at Imhotep's bottom lip.

Imhotep made a noise very like a growl and grabbed Rick's hair at the base of his neck, forcing their mouths together. Imhotep's tongue slid into his mouth, hot and slick, possessively licking against his own tongue, and eagerly touching elsewhere in his mouth. Places that made Rick squirm made him part his thighs and buck his own hard groin into Imhotep's stomach.

Suddenly, in the way of dreams, Rick was bare – and Imhotep's fingers dug into his skin, and Rick closed his eyes, letting Imhotep dominate the kiss. It was messy, wet – and made Rick want more. They thrust against each other – groaning, whimpering – and when Imhotep reached down to part the cleft of Rick's ass and teasingly play his fingers against his entrance – Rick moaned. There were more franticly needy kisses – and Rick was stretched as fingers pressed into him, Imhotep contenting himself with thrusting his throbbing groin against Rick's thigh.

Rick wondered if Imhotep would come like that – spilling his seed against his thigh and hip – when Imhotep moved his fingers away from Rick's ass – Rick bit at Imhotep's bottom lip, whining a bit as he had grown to like the feel of hands touching him there. Imhotep chuckled deep in his throat, and arched his hips up pushing into Rick's entrance.

Rick knew then – that if this had not been a dream, it would have hurt a hell of a lot worse then it did. As it was, ever so slowly – painfully – Imhotep's cock pushed into him, filling him. It was a pain like getting shot, only Rick supposed it was worse - and better. But Imhotep let out a soft, low moan – a moan that filled Rick with warmth he had not known before this moment. It was worth it – the burning pain of being stretched – of being penetrated, it was worth it damned it – worth it if it meant that Imhotep found pleasure in him.

So Rick gritted his teeth and bore the pain – there were worse things, he knew that – but at the moment he could think of none. Imhotep shifted his weight then, and Rick yelled out in surprise. Imhotep moved again, just enough so Rick felt a pleasure that threatened to overwhelm him. He didn't care then that this had hurt – it was worth it for different reasons, pleasure for Imhotep – yes, but that was returned. Rick lost track of the time, as Imhotep threatened to overwhelm him with long and short thrusts – _he's playing with me_. Rick realized as he clenched his ass and whined needy and full of an alien craving to feel the warmth and wetness of Imhotep's seed within him, he could feel it- just out of reach – the promise of orgasm.

"_Please_…" Rick gasped out and there was a blur of Imhotep's face caught between smugness on the verge of abandon. Then, there was only bliss – satisfaction, and they lay together, curled around each other like puppies. The sun rose – and Rick realized he wasn't going to wake up this time. There was sadness, yes, but – mostly, there was a deep satisfaction.

Imhotep looked to him then, searching for his reaction –for regret, for the stirrings of loathing or fury. Rick only smiled, kissed him softly – gently, and rubbed his cheek against the other mans chest. Fingers played with his hair, and Rick closed his eyes, dozing in a dream world that belonged to them.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

Tell me what you think!


	4. Drinking Games: HarryxJonathon

_"Drinking Games (Are Not For Children)"_

_Abby Ebon_

Note; what if what had happened in "_The Morning after – or Something like It_"…changed just a bit? Jonathon/Harry smut.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

"You look like you're having fun being gloomy." Jonathon told him, Harry snorted, and Jonathon quirked a grin.

"What do you say we go get good and drunk and forget that mess at Hamunaptra, eh?" Jonathon prodded, entering Harry's room. Harry considered it – he knew Hermione and Ron would have been disappointed.

"Sure, why not." Jonathon grinned and waited for Harry as he rose and left the room, Jonathon wrapped around Harry's shoulders, and leaned close to Harry's ear. "Lovely, I hate drinking alone."

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

"Let's play…um, spin the bottle – mixed with as bit of truth, dare, or lie…" Jonathon declared, upon sitting down, bottle of drink in hand. Harry found himself amused – for Jonathon had not even sipped a bit of alcohol and was already acting rather hyper. Instead he tilted his head, and thought he too much be a "little tipsy" for the game sounded, in the very least, interesting in a thrillingly naughty sort of way.

"How, exactly, would you go about playing?" Harry found himself asking, and Jonathon seemed quite enthusiastic at his chance to explain.

"Well, first, I suppose – one of us will have to finish his bottle. Then we'll spin it about, and whoever it points at will be the victim – I, uh, mean – player who has to either tell something about themselves that's either true or not – the other guesses if it is or not if they get it right, nothing happens – but if they are wrong, the one who had to give up truth or lie declares a dare – and if they don't do the dare, then they have to do what the other says." Jonathon declared smiling charmingly when Harry began to look a bit uneasy, but Harry only shrugged his agreement. It was only a game – what could come from playing a game? He should have remembered what harm had come from opening a book.

Jonathon quickly swallowed down his bottle, while Harry only sipped at it madding slowly. _If I win the question and answer_, Jonathon thought frowning a little bit as he set the bottle on the table and flicked the throat of the bottle making it spin, _I'll have him finish off two of those first off. No fair if he can think._

The bottle ironically pointed at him.

"I –uh, don't like ancient cities." Jonathon declared, for it was true enough. He did not like Hamunaptra.

"Liar, you like their treasures well enough – just not the bodies of the once living." Harry corrected and a wicked little grin, not the least bit solemn, crossed his features. It was the most life he had shown since awakening in a sarcophagus – and Jonathon couldn't find it in himself to be unhappy about seeing him at least a little content.

"True, true – so what's the dare?" Jonathon might act the part of the fool, but he was not going to become the other mans servant because of a drinking game. Harry shrugged a shoulder, half smiling as he spoke.

"Sit on the floor." Harry told him promptly, before tapping the bottle neck, causing it to spin.

_That's it?_ Jonathon thought, wondering why he felt a bit disappointed in the dare, even as he settled onto the dirt floor. The bottle pointed accusingly at him again.

"I'm not wearing underwear." Jonathon mumbled, Harry laughed spitting out some of the drink. He whipped his mouth, looked Jonathon up and down, measuring and weighting him. Jonathon wondered why he had to suppress a shiver at the thoughts those green eyes hid.

"Truth." Harry declared and Jonathon tried not to blush when he nodded. It was a harmless truth. Jonathon reached up on the table and spun the bottle, this time it pointed at Harry. _Finally_, Jonathon thought, _now if only I can catch him in a lie._

"I…uh, have never died." Jonathon blinked – shaking his head, for a moment he had wanted to tell Harry he had lied. _Must be because of finding him in a sarcophagus, most dead men come from them._

"Truth…though you were touched by death by being in that sarcophagus." Jonathon stated, and Harry only smiled and shrugged a shoulder, tapping the bottle neck to send it spinning. Jonathon could only wonder why he felt cheated. It pointed once more at Harry. _Finally_, Jonathon thought suppressing a grin, _a turn around._

"My eyes are from my mother." Harry admitted, and Jonathon sensed that this, at least, was truth if a bit of the truth of which Harry was that, nonetheless, somehow hurt Harry.

"Truth." Jonathon murmured softly, he could have argued it took two to tango and reproduce, but he found he didn't want to press the younger looking man for a dare or servant. About family, it just didn't seem right. Jonathon gave the bottle a tap, and a third time it pointed at Harry. Harry seemed to glare at it.

"I don't need glasses." Jonathon snickered, deciding to argue that point.

"Lie. You do when you're drinking – everyone does, though there isn't a cure for it." Harry blinked at him, chuckled, and nodded in agreement to his victory.

"Dare is…drink down two bottles of that stuff." Jonathon demanded, feeling a bit childish. Harry looked sick at the thought, but he didn't argue the point – or ask for what Jonathon would request of him otherwise – he gulped them down, and Jonathon knew the rush he'd get from doing so, though Harry was trying hard not to show it.

It took Harry twice to try, but the bottle was sent spinning in the end – only to land on Jonathon who pouted.

"The bottle is cursed." He declared softy, and Harry giggled, it was a sweet sound like the clattering of tiny bells, enchanted, Jonathon gazed at him, almost too dazed when Harry spoke that his declaration was truth or lie.

"Lie. Hmmm…kiss me?" Harry asked as a dare, and Jonathon's lips quirked in amusement, if Harry thought he would not….Jonathon got to his knee's eye-to-eye beside the youth, he cupped Harry's cheek in his hand, the tips of his fingers brushing the midnight locks. Gracefully he kissed the younger man whose lips gave under his kiss, and teasingly Jonathon let his tongue slip into the boy's mouth and tease his own slick muscle.

When he leaned away – tapping the bottle to send it spinning, Harry blinked at him – not noticing it pointed at him, staring at Jonathon wide eyed. Clearly the youth had not expected to be kissed. Jonathon settled back onto the floor, crossing his legs and deciding he didn't mind so much that Harry was a tease when he was tipsy.

"That…wasn't my first kiss." Harry said softly, face flushing. Jonathon sitting on the floor at Harry's side wondered who the boy was trying to fool.

"Liar… worlds of difference between a kiss from a girl one from a man – and you've never kissed a man." Jonathon told him, narrow eyed, Harry only licked his lips, not arguing the truth of his words. _If I didn't know better_, Jonathon thought looking at Harry from beneath his half lidded eyes, _I'd say he wants to be wrong._

"You've had enough." Jonathon told him then, not wanting to give a dare or order. It had been a stupid idea, and he felt as if he was cheating somehow, playing with the boy like he was.

"Come on, off to bed with you." Jonathon stated, rising to his feet, when Harry tried to follow he stumbled and swayed. In the end Jonathon had to lead him to his rooms, pulling back the bed covers so Harry could crawl under them. Harry had surprised him though; he was only dressed in a shirt, having disregarded his pants somewhere in the bedroom. Jonathon felt a bit silly, preparing to tuck a grown man into bed. Before he could walk away, or move to cover Harry up, the younger man pulled him down on top of him, kissing him greedily.

Jonathon could not help the lurch his groin gave at the whimper Harry gave when he began to return the kiss with equal enthusiasm.

"You sure you want to do this?" Jonathon hastily asked when they paused in their kiss for breath, he was already atop the younger man, straddling him, he felt Harry's hips rock beneath him Harry's cock rubbing against the cleft of Jonathon's ass.

"Yes." It was an odd mix of a growled hiss, but Jonathon had little time to think about what he was getting into as Harry fought to pull his pants off, with a wriggle of his hips the clothing fell away and he was trusting and arching against Harry, at times his cock throbbed against Harry's own, sometimes his groin touched Harry's ass and the younger man would moan, breath catching in his throat to show approval or want. But it was Jonathon who gasped, panting and fighting to keep breathing rather then fall into an abyss of need and want when Harry's length pressed against his entrance teasingly.

"What do you want?" Harry murmured softly against the shell of his ear, lips fastening on the lobe, teeth and tongue teasing him into a panting mass that Harry maneuvered onto the mattress, touching navel and groin with teasing insistence until Jonathon all too willingly spread his legs for the golden skinned with ebony locks and intense green eyes.

"P-please, Harry…" Jonathon was not above begging and pleading for what he wanted – not when Harry was hovering over him, touching him, making his body sing for his own desire.

"What do you want, Jonathon?" Harry asked again, this time in a tone that Jonathon knew to be a demand, he gasped with pleasure, and eyes fluttering closed as slick digits probed and stoked him until he was breathless with pleasure, the need for Harry to be within him was all he could think of.

"Y-you, you Harry, please, I want you. Inside me, take me, Harry – fuck me." So he begged for it, pleading for Harry to let him have the pleasure that was hovering, just out of reach, the ultimate tease.

Harry gave a moan that was more like a growl as he pressed his length into Jonathon, slowly – bit by bit; he felt it move into him. Invading him, taking him – owning him as only a man could own another man. Jonathon cried out, lust licking at his groin when he felt with all his being that groin throb against him – within him.

When Harry began to slowly thrust in and out, moving his body against Jonathon's own almost tenderly, hesitating in the awe of feeling and lust that heated them, Jonathon could not allow such a gentle partnering and arched his hips – welcoming Harry, forcing him in deeper – and it was good, felt so good – he was not surprised when Harry, unable to keep his control sped up, thrusting in wildly – hard and deep, so much so that the bed rocked, thumping against the wall, the springs in the mattress creaking protests which were blatantly ignored.

"A-ah…Jon…" Harry gasped out, and Jonathon opened his eyes, seeing Harry looking down at him in an expression that was a mix of need and…and awe? Jonathon did not have time to do more then burn the image in his mind, for later; he promised himself, he would study it. Before Harry was rocking, harder and harder against him – in him, at one point slipping entirely out of Jonathon only to thrust the length of him fully inside, and with a throbbing twitch Jonathon felt the climax ride him, jolting limbs as if in seizure and Jonathon could only gasp out Harry's mangled name.

"H-Harr'!" He heard, rather then felt, Harry be engulfed by his own climax. When he came out of his pleasured daze, he found Harry half asleep, his arm curled around Jonathon's waist. Jonathon gave his…lover…a contented smile, before a wicked grin crossed his features.

_I will take you_, Jonathon promised as he gently kissed scar on Harry's sweaty forehead, _and you **will** scream my name, Harry._

O.o.O.o.O.o.O


	5. Don’t Forget To Breath:HPxArdethxImhotep

_"Don't Forget To Breath (For You Are My Everything)"_

_Abby Ebon_

Note; the promised **Ardeth/Harry/Imhotep smut**; takes place in an alt. world where Harry chose to go back and defeat Voldemort. Only he didn't know Imhotep was reborn as Voldemort. So, when the result was that Harry was "reborn" in the past becoming twenty-one in the year 1923 – and as the Ma-jei he learns connections forged in the future linger in the past. Most especially when "the creature" that is Imhotep starts to awaken through their shared dreams. Set in the same "universe" as "You're Lips (The Color of Crimson Blood)" and "Passion in the Dusk (The Lick of Lust)".

Terms to know - The _Akh_ ("the luminous effective spirit of the deceased, capable of interacting with the living.")

The _Ba_ ("depicted as a human-headed bird; the essence of an individuals personality that manifested itself to others.")

_Ka_ ("the life force of a _person_ or _god_; the ka of a dead person had to be fed and sheltered, duties that fell to a ka priest.")

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

When Ardeth could pay attention to more then how good he felt, he found he held Harry close to him, their legs tangled together, Harry's head tucked against his chest as they rested in the shade of the trees.

"That," Ardeth murmured hoarsely, "wasn't fair." Harry only smirked wickedly against Ardeth's chest, the tip of his finger playing with a strand of chest hair.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

Beneath the midday sun, with sated bodies, it was not long before they dozed off. It was a rare moment of peace for the two; these were the moments they had learned to treasure and horde like a handful of sand. They could not last forever, but they were precious while they lasted.

Something, it seemed to Harry later, was bound and determined to take away those rare moments.

As he slept it seemed he was in the shadow of a pyramid, howling winds kept him from standing upright. This, he knew, was like a sandstorm; though unlike any such storm he had ever seen. He had only the impression that it had come up quickly, and that there had been no chance to get to the other side of the pyramid.

Somehow, he knew that like this side was set in shadow and besieged by storm, the other side would be calm with sunlight caressing sand roughened stone. Why he did not take cover, he did not know, only that he had to get to the other side of the pyramid. Right now, and not after the sandstorm had passed.

He was mere steps away from the edge of the shadow – his fingers reaching for the stones that formed one edge of the pyramid, when he tripped, flung to the ground, and thrown by howling winds away from the edge. He lay prone on his back, panting for breath though the gauze like cloth that covered his face, from ears, to nose and mouth, to eyes. He saw green light fill the dark sky, and shook with fear. In a rush, knowing his time was shortening, he got to his feet and flung himself along the stone sides of the pyramid, seeking the minimal shelter they offered.

Green light flickered overhead once more, like green lighting.

He knew the green light, knew it meant death – knew he hadn't much time. The green lightning would only appear once more before he died. Again he reached the beckoning side of the pyramid, the winds stole his cloth face covering – he was exposed to sand and wind, and if the storm did not pass soon he would die. Sand would burn its way into his mouth, his nose – fill his sight, and ruin his hearing. It would numb the senses – and then kill.

He did not have time – the sand would be a slow death, but he'd rather face the sand –something he understood - and die slowly then be killed by green lightning which made his skin crawl with its unnaturalness.

Every step – every breath, was fought against the howling winds, there was nothing to hear or see, for he had shut his eyes tightly, feeling the stones beneath his fingers and clinging to them knowing if he fell this time he would most certainly die. He did not want the last thing he saw to be a flash of green light behind his eyelids.

Then, finally – he felt the warmth of the sun on his finger tips. He was close – close to reaching safety, he struggled to lift his feet the last few steps – felt himself be caught by the wind like a toy, felt it seem to pause – mocking him – but it was too late, he would die. He knew that, his breath caught in his throat – he felt tears, he half sobbed as he fought to remain still, fought to feel the warm sun – fought for his life.

The green light was coming, he knew that then.

He was straining, the wind forcing him to let go, or bloody his hands.

A hand gripped his fingers and yanked him into the sunlight, the wind ceased and from beneath his eyelids he could see the light of the sun. He was held securely against a man, as he panted for his breath – as he sobbed with the relief of living though he had been moments from death.

He opened his eyes, and saw rotten flesh, mostly eaten – looked up to see bandages, dirtied by blood. He looked into the grim face of the creature, he, and his people – his kith and kin, had spent generations keeping from awakening.

Green light filled his sight, but huddled in the creatures arms, he did not die. Could not die, he was cursed - just like the creature. Only, he feared as he fought not to scream, he had awakened the creature. Only then did he realize that in fighting the other side of the pyramid with its shadows and howling winds, he had been fighting death. His death, the creature seemed to give him a gapping smile, half its jaw missing, it was horrifyingly real.

He screamed – yelling out his fear, his anger – his horror at, by fighting death, the fact he – not some cursed stranger – he, a Ma-jei - had awakened an ancient monster to keep him from his death.

Harry woke then, screaming, held by Ardeth who knew – knew by only gazing into his eyes, that it wasn't "just a dream". Ma-jei did not "just dream" – they were the keepers of balance, the warriors who fought to keep ancient monsters sleeping. He, a Ma-jei, had broken that primeval balance.

He was cursed, and any Ma-jei who looked into his eyes would know it.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

"What can we do?" When Ardeth, leader of the twelve tribes of the Ma-jei, asked such a question, it was promptly answered. This did not change, not even when the question was tinged with desperation, not even when the subject was his brother-of-heart and fellow Ma-jei warrior.

"First, we shall see if, indeed, this dream is a true vision of the happenings of now – or what may come to be." The shaman answered slowly, to anyone else – to a stranger – it would have seemed silly that a white haired old man with tanned, sun wrinkled skin, would so carefully not look into the youth who sat, silent and gloomy, beside Ardeth.

"What would it change if it is now or the future?" Harry questioned softly, and though it had been murmured under his breath, the old man jerked, as if his voice had been a shout. That he looked first to Ardeth, before Harry – who had asked the question, showed Harry how far he had fallen down the ranks of the tribes. He might as well be a stranger, rather then one of their own. Strangers were given more regard then the cursed – or banished – of the Ma-jei.

"If it is indeed the now – as most believe – we may prepare. If it is something that will happen, there are precautions we must establish." The shaman answered, and Harry only shrugged a shoulder.

If his vision was true, and he was cured now – preparations meant trying to kill Harry – failing that, they would send him to a far corner of the earth – anything to keep Harry and the creature from meeting face to face.

If it was going to happen, death or banishment would be his choices. The second offered only because he was Ardeth's brother-in-spirit, a tie not even the shamans could revoke in the face of his curse. A tie he knew Ardeth would use to keep him alive. It was now, for the first time in his life – that regretted the tie to Ardeth – if the creature held his life, it would be used against Ardeth. It was a tie everyone said should be severed – but Ardeth refused, and Harry did not have the heart to argue with Ardeth of the wisdom in his choice.

"When you sleep tonight, Ardeth must protect your body – and I will walk into your dream, to protect you there – and we shall seek to find the answer to which it is." The shaman stated, and his word in these matters was not argued with – Ardeth stood and Harry only followed the action, mimicking Ardeth even when he bowed. It had been a joke once that Harry was Ardeth's shadow, no one laughed now – for everyone knew the shadow was a physical representation of the Ka. If the Ka died – if Harry died – Ardeth would follow.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

That night, though Harry slept in Ardeth's arms, he feared. He had not slept since that night – the night he fought his death and fell into the arms of the creature. The night he was cursed…

"Please, Harry…sleep, the shaman can not walk into your mind and see what truth is and what is not if you do not sleep." Ardeth begged softly, his lips brushing the skin of his ears with the small movements it took to speak. Harry sighed softly, Ardeth could feel the movement, but knew Harry drifted frantically through his own mind, searching himself for answers he did not have the skills to find.

"I do not want it do be true." Harry whispered after a long silence.

"I will not abandon you." Ardeth promised, tightening his grip around Harry's slender frame.

"Not even if it is for the good of the Ma-jei?" Harry asked, it was not mocking like those who had told him to sever the tie of brother-in-spirit. Even so, Ardeth found himself reacting to it – tensing, reaching to feel the spiritual tie to the one he held. If only to ensure no one had found a way to cut it. Doing so would result in death for the accuser, but the Ma-jei would see it as the right thing – an honorable death - to keep their leader from dying with his heart brother.

"Even then…" Ardeth closed his eyes, knowing that even if the tie was severed, he would follow Harry into banishment.

"I do not want you to suffer." Harry stated softly, and Ardeth's spirit stirred with worry for Harry had withdrawn so much into himself that the easy body communication and presence of each other had suffered for it.

"I would suffer if you were physically dealt a blow – and I suffer with you even in this." Ardeth stated, and Harry did not argue that – both knew it to be true. Harry stirred within his arms, but did not struggle to be rid of him, for which Ardeth found he was grateful for. He feared that if distance separated them, he would not be able to feel if Harry died; the tie was so choked and frail.

"You're being selfish, not noble. Our people need you." Harry hissed the words out, and for a moment – in which Ardeth's heart lurched, a cold thump, and fell in his chest a sinking deadened wound – Ardeth feared that Harry hated him. Then he felt, only then because he touched at how Harry himself felt about himself, did Ardeth know that Harry did not hate him, but feared for him so much so that he'd rather die then see his people – and Ardeth – fall with him.

"You need me more." Ardeth stated, and it was truth, and because it was the truth, Harry slumped and did not fight it. As if all he had needed was that reassurance, Harry slumped in his arms, breathe evening out as he fell into sleep.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

"Why do you fight me?" For a confused moment Harry thought the one who asked the question to be Ardeth, and then with cold dread he knew himself to be wrong in his assumption.

In a mockery of the caring embrace Ardeth had enveloped him with as he fell into sleep; the creature was tangled around him in the same manner. This time he was all too human looking – with a healthy flush to his skin, the only reason Harry knew this to be the creature was that the chest he was pressed to had no heart beat. No blood flowed through the creatures cured body – he needed no breath, no food, and no drink – not even air.

Harry realized in that moment that he wore no clothes – had no bedcovering, they lay – he and the creature – together unclothed, flesh against flesh.

"You are not who I love." Harry hissed the answer to the creatures question through pressed lips.

"What does it matter if you love me? I knew you were dying – that you fought – and you're being called out to me, and I answered. We belong to each other." The creature told him pressing unwanted kisses along his jaw, neck, and shoulders. Lips played with his flesh – heated it, made him gasp and whine, for he was only human – and the creature manipulated his weakness.

"I do not want this." Harry hissed, cheeks flushed and body straining with his arousal. The creature's fingers teased his navel, flicking the tip of his length, playing with him, if only to cradle his body while he writhed against the creature. Despite himself he craved the touch – and hated himself for that.

"Your body says otherwise." The words were purred, a slick tongue licking the edge of his ear, teeth nibbling at his lobe. The pleasure slowly built to pain. Harry cried out weakly, all too late he realized he was truly helpless now. Against the skin of his cheek, he felt the creature smile.

"I am Imhotep, and you will be mine – even if I must sever your Ba from your body to have you." The words were whispered, soft – nearly too soft to hear. But someone did – someone that was not Harry. The shaman had kept his word and followed Harry in his dream – only, the shaman knew, this was no longer just a dream.

With dead dark eyes, Imhotep looked up; half lidded eyes regarded the shaman. Harry, unclothed and vulnerable – struggled to get to the shamans side – to be free. Imhotep watched as the shaman dared to draw closer – finger tips stretching, reaching – and just as the tips of their fingers touched Imhotep laughed, waved a hand – and the shaman faded from sight like a wisp of smoke.

Imhotep's hand touched Harry's jaw, tilted his head back – and kissed him, holding Harry to him as the creatures tongue probed the youth's mouth, the slick muscle forcing itself into the youth. Around the kiss, Harry screamed – struggling – for he felt the pain, white hot and throbbing – as his body and Ba were split.

Harry was still aroused.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

"What are you doing here, are you not supposed to be guarding his sleep?" Ardeth asked, his tone managing to be both disapproving and accusing. The Shaman, whose shadow had fallen over the two, took a shaky breath in the face of Ardeth's hostility. He had expected worse – to be killed upon awakening, instead he had been led here.

The young Ma-jei leader took a dampened cloth, placing it over Harry's damp skin. His body was fevered and refused to wake. Without water he would not live longer then a week, water they could provide by squeezing liquid down his throat – food, well, that was the true threat to Harry's survival. His body could not express its needs to Harry's spirit – his Ba, for his essence was severed – and his Ka –his life force - diminishing.

"I did not abandon him willingly." The shaman stated, though it was a useless fact, he had still failed. He was lucky Ardeth had not had him killed.

"That is why you still draw breath." Ardeth stated coldly, turning dark eyes to meet his own.

"What would you do to redeem yourself?" Ardeth asked then, measuring, and the shaman swallowed.

"Anything in my power…." The shaman promised, and Ardeth, though he had likely known the answer was coming, only nodded in an accepting manner much like an adult conversing with a child.

"When night falls – take my Ka with yours, I wish to see him…one last time." Ardeth asked, fingers dragging themselves through Harry's thick dark hair. The old man pressed his lips together in thought, eyes shadowed as he considered what Ardeth could do – would do – to bring Harry out of the "dream".

"I will do this." The shaman declared in a promise, leaving in the haunting sight. He did not think that Ardeth was quite as alive as he seemed – for the young man had had the empty eyes of the dead - of the cursed.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

That night, Ardeth closed his eyes – a lock of Harry's hair had been braided into his own – he did not know if he would awaken from this nights sleep, but if he did not he knew Harry's body would die with him. He knew the Ma-jei, however close he and Harry had been in life, would bury them miles apart. He did not want to spend eternity without some part of Harry resting with him.

It did not surprise him when the shaman appeared in his dream. They regarded each other, silent – in this place they were equal. But the shaman kept his word, and held Ardeth's hand as he led him. The shamans hand was cold – like icy water, but that was all the sensation Ardeth held of him. The ground beneath his feet crunched like rock – though he could not see the ground or his feet through the thick rolling mist he walked through.

He did not know how long it took, but slower then he would have liked, he arrived at a cave in which the shadows were like living creatures in the dark. Peering at him – measuring him, wary of him as he was of them. He did not have to ask to know this was where the creature kept Harry.

With the shaman by his side, Ardeth walked onward. The cave expanded, and became like a great palace inside the earth, the floor was of black stone which when he stepped on whispered with a hushed, secretive, tone Ardeth could not quite make out what was said.

The walls were of a dark rock, though slivers of gold and silver broke the surface, pulsing, like the very veins of the earth. Ardeth did not pause to study these things; merely glimpsing them out of the corner of his eyes was enough to burn the images into his mind. He had merely let his attention drift and he would see those images, he knew that before sleeping and waking those walls and floors of the dream cave would be what he remembered the most.

Then he came upon the sight of Harry, and that, most of all – he would remember. Harry lay on the floor of the cave, awake, staring at the roof of the cave, sightless. He did not seem to be able to see or hear them. If he was aware of Ardeth or the shaman he showed no signs of it.

Wrapped around his heart brother was the creature, seeming to be truly asleep.

"Harry…?" Ardeth spoke unable to help himself – if, even in the dream, Harry was as unresponsive as in life, Ardeth did not know if he could stand to know that and live. It was not Harry that responded to his call – the creature stirred, and when it looked to see Ardeth and the shaman, it hissed its amusement. Like wisps of smoke caught in an unseen storm, the shaman cried out as he was ripped apart piece by piece, only to lie in a pool of blood on the dark stone floor.

The shaman had warned him not to speak – now he knew why.

"So you are the one who keeps him from being mine…" Ardeth looked up slowly from the shaman's dead spirit body to meet the creatures annoyed gaze. Its fingers trailed down Harry's body, parted his legs and teased his entrance – all the while watching Ardeth, waiting to see his reaction.

Helplessly, Harry mewled in pleasure.

"Why do you do this? What do you want?" Ardeth asked, desperate – anything to stop the creature from continuing. It chuckled, low and soft –pleased.

"I do what I do because I can. No one can stop me. I am Imhotep, and this boy is mine." Fingers probed Harry's anus, teased it open, and pressed inside teasing him until he was keening his pleasure. Calling out, helpless, seeking relief – Ardeth did not want to see this. He tried to step forward and stop the creature – but he found himself held in place, helpless.

Watching him, the creature that had once been Imhotep straddled Harry, thrusting slowly in and out, all the while the creatures gaze did not leave Ardeth's own.

"I will have what I want." Imhotep told him, almost too soft to hear over Harry's weak cries of helpless pleasure. Ardeth's eyes widened as it seemed to him that, just for a moment that was a ghost of his heart brother twisted tightly around Imhotep's own spirit, crying out with every thrust, whimpering for more.

The Ba…is joined with Imhotep's… Ardeth felt a shudder of rage tense his shoulders.

He watched as the ghost of Harry looked to him, and then whispered to Imhotep, arching his hips imploringly - inviting. Though there had been no words spoken Ardeth knew through his connection with Harry as his brother-of-spirit what had been asked.

Join us with him? We are wanting.

Ardeth knew then he would do anything to stop this. The joined Ba's seemed to sense that.

"But…I am greedy…I want all of this boy –while his Ba is tied to mine, and his Ka and mine are one – his Akh, his spirit, is joined with yours in a tie I can not break. So, this is what I shall offer you. I am awakened – with or without this boy, but I will have all of him, or I will kill him. If you were to join us – I would have all of him as mine – and you." The creature – a man once called Imhotep seemed particularly pleased with that thought.

"So this is the bargain, Ma-jei – watch as I kill your friend," a particularly hard thrust caused Harry to gasp and Ardeth's length to throb, "or join us." The last words were purred with unholy glee.

Ardeth knew the choice the Ma-jei, his people, would want him to make. He knew the choice Harry would have wanted. But he could not leave Harry to be killed by the creature – not even when the cost was his freedom.

"Forgive me, brother in heart…" Ardeth pleaded as Harry met his eyes as Imhotep thrust into him.

"I…I will do it. We have a bargain." It dried Ardeth's throat to say the words, and Imhotep gave him a smile that chilled him – made him feel sickly ill. All at once he could move, and he did – slowly he walked forward, for he was still in Imhotep's wary gaze. Ardeth knelt beside them, stripping out of his clothing. Only then did he dare to try to touch without fearing that Imhotep would harm Harry to get him to do something else.

He gathered Harry to his chest, the warmth of his skin a reassuring reminder that Harry was alive – his heart thudding like a little bird as Ardeth let Harry's weight press upon him from above. Imhotep watched – triumphantly smug.

Harry whimpered softly, holding Ardeth against him, his throbbing groin pressing at Ardeth's entrance, teasing him into spreading his legs, Harry's weight reassuringly pressing him down – his anchor - steadying him.

"Are you sure?" For a moment, Ardeth was not sure if the whispered words were real, if Harry had truly spoken or if it was his imagination. Harry's mouth fixed on his nipple, teeth and tongue making him gasp and arch.

Then Harry's eyes met his – and Ardeth knew, that this sensual being was still his heart brother – still Harry. And Harry would not continue, despite his own need, unless Ardeth gave his word that this was what he wanted. Bargain or not, in this, Harry would see that Ardeth was not manipulated.

Relief washed through him like a tidal wave – he was not alone – he would not have to face eternity with the creature and the shell of his heart brother, as he had envisioned. Harry still had his mind – his spirit – though it was his spiritual body that Imhotep ruled. Ardeth gave a gasping sob, which Harry disguised with a kiss.

"Yes, I am sure. I will not abandon you." Ardeth murmured softly as Harry lifted his lips and licked along his neck. His pulse thudded in his ears. He felt Harry's weight settle more firmly upon him, felt the warm head of Harry's length press into him – slowly, there was no pain – though Ardeth knew there should have been physical pain. Imhotep, as if he guessed Ardeth's thoughts, chuckled as he reached out a hand to pat Harry's thigh.

"Do not forget where you are, Ardeth. This is the dream realm – spiritual, one might say. This is a joining of spirits, not bodies, though the…effects will be just as lasting." Imhotep murmured softly, dark eyes watching the two couple. Imhotep petted Harry like a hound or tamed cat, and Harry began to thrust into Ardeth in earnest.

Ardeth could not think – he only writhed, crying out when the pleasure built to be too intense. Gasping when he forgot to breath, arching his neck, ridding the pleasure out – Harry gave an animalistic growl and lowered his mouth to Ardeth's throat, sucking and biting the exposed – vulnerable – flesh.

Imhotep moved suddenly, the sight of him behind Harry – touching him, was all Ardeth could see. Imhotep pressed himself into Harry – and Ardeth heard Harry whimper, softy – needy. They were joined, the three of them – joined in their efforts to find pleasure. When Imhotep rocked his hips – Harry thrust unexpectedly into Ardeth, breaking the rhythm Harry had gained, adding new movements that sent Ardeth to a burning edge of pleasure. They were Imhotep's now – he played them as he willed, and they were too dazed to stop him – to take control back.

Ardeth closed his eyes, mouth open though he could not tell if he breathed or not, and it seemed to him that he saw Harry and he become one – the shared being had Harry's eyes –Ardeth's body – Harry's hair – Ardeth's tattoos – it was all jumbled together like bits and pieces of a puzzle Ardeth could not gasp as a whole.

Our Akh, Ardeth thought absently as Harry throbbed, close, ever so close to coming, is joined. We are one…Ardeth cried out, unable to stop himself as his body betrayed him – his muscles clenching – gripping – Harry urging his own climax. While Ardeth was still coming – he felt Harry give a silent cry – and felt sated to know they had shared this together.

Then his heart lurched, and he saw through white vision the three of them – he, Harry, and the creature, chained together, and knew that to be their Ka.

_What have I done?_ Ardeth though, heart thudding – the only thing he could hear. Imhotep cried out, finishing with them.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

Note; vote for the next pairing!

Here We Go Again (I Want To Make You Feel); Harry/Rick

What Lingers In Shadows (That I Can Not Kill For You); Harry/ 'Chaos'

Dog Stars (Always Point The Way); Harry/Sirius

Rick/Harry, Rick/Ardeth, or Sirius/Rick, Sirius/Ardeth/Harry, I am even willing to do Rick/Imhotep, or Jonathon/Imhotep; and I have this very odd idea of Alex/Imhotep/Ardeth which – what if his parents hadn't been able to save him – and where would the world be ten years later? I must admit I can be tempted to write as many pairings as someone is enthusiastic about. So, the question is - what do _you_ suggest?


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